


pianoinnit

by ytka_hjonkkk



Series: mcyt fics :0 [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Dramatic, Fluff, Gen, Minecraft, Music, Oneshot, Piano, Sleep Deprivation, Tommyinnit needs sleep, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Twitch - Freeform, literally just tommy plays the piano and wilburs like :0, literally no sad just fluff, overly dramatic jesus christ, wtf how do i tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ytka_hjonkkk/pseuds/ytka_hjonkkk
Summary: Tommyinnit really loves playing the piano, and making his own songs. he shows Wilbur on stream and Wilburs like :0
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: mcyt fics :0 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120814
Comments: 24
Kudos: 660





	pianoinnit

Tommy's fingers were cramping. The muscles felt taut in comparison to the rest of his body, which was positively slumping out of exhaustion. But fucking hell, he was buzzing. Whatever it was that flowed through his body right then couldn't have been blood, because blood had never felt that charged before. So goddamn powerful. The force which he slammed his fingers onto the keys with felt inhuman, didn't feel like him, because he had only ever played the piano with careful precision before. He had only ever watched his fingers as they flew across the expanse of ivory, or kept his eyes trained on the music before him. 

Tonight, though, his eyes stayed firmly shut as his body shook with raw emotion, back arching as he reached for the furthermost keys. Suddenly he was oh, so grateful for the soundproofing his dad had installed in his bedroom, because he didn't think he could stop playing if he tried. The electricity running through him right then was unparalleled, forcing his hands back down in an aggressive chord on his left. The intended dynamics on the sheet music were irrelevant to him then, his eyes screwed shut as they were. He just hit the notes with an unprecedented aggression, never once slowing or growing softer. 

His room was lit only by the harsh light of his computer screen, glaring onto his back in a fruitless attempt to save his eyesight. Yeah, no. That wasn't happening. Even if he had been trying to read the music on the stand infront of him, the shadow of his body would have obscured any light shed on the paper, deeming it useless.

He was almost too engrossed in the music, the feeling in his bones that shook him to the core, to notice the ringing of a discord call behind him. His hands stumbled, missing a note, and he was pulled out of his stupor with a jerk at the painfully flat note. Fuck. It was only then that he noted the ache in his muscles, the pulling of his eyelids when he opened them. He sat, trying to catch his breath, and clutched his hands together to stop the shaking. His back straightened up as he tried to adjust to his newly aware state. Damn, it felt wrong. The embers of the fire in his veins were still there, but it felt like nothing compared to the roaring flame of before, stripping him of the magical energy he had possessed. The withdrawal left him quivering, his body lacking the fuel it had been running on for hours. Slumping back down, he pressed his forehead into the sheen of the keys, a few stray tears finding their way into the cracks inbetween them. 

From behind him, the ringing started again, drawing an irritated growl from the boy at the piano. He was going to ignore it, he really was, but the noise made his teeth grind together, and he just wanted it to shut up so he could sleep. Maybe sleeping on a shitty, barely cushioned piano stool wasn't such a good idea, but hey, his bed was all the way across the room. He wasn't about to stand up without some sort of prompting. Apparently, the prompt he had been provided with was a discord call from Mr. Wilbur Soot himself. 

Falling into his gaming chair, he clicked the accept button with a lazy abandon. Immediately, his pseudo brother's voice rang out with concern from his speakers. 

"Tommy? Why are you online at 6 o'clock? It's Saturday!"

Blinking slowly, Tommy stared at Wilbur's icon on the screen. The sleep calling to him from his bed seemed intent on sticking his eyelids together and clouding his thoughts. He could have sworn that last time he looked at his clock, it had been just past 2. He had walked over to the piano, intending to play a song or two, calm ones, to help him fall asleep. Things had got out of hand, apparently. Shaking his head jerkily, he spoke. 

"It's 6?" His words were far too slurred for his liking, filled with the grogginess of exhaustion. There was a silence, filled only with Will's breathing from the other line. Jesus, the desire in him to unplug his computer and run back over to his piano was almost overpowering. He just wanted to fill that unnecessary silence, create a melody that would offset the painful awkwardness of this encounter. He could imagine the chords below already, a B minor maybe, with a dramatic swung rhythm over the top. He could add some pedal in, that would certainly add something-

"Tommy, have you slept yet?" Wilbur's voice cut through his thoughts, full of worry and anger and other emotions he couldn't be arsed to decipher. 

"No." 

A sharp intake of breath from Wilbur, then silence. 

"Tommy."

The boy in question made a vague, tired noise of acknowledgement. 

"Go to sleep." The elder man's voice was stern, like he was properly trying on the big brother role he had been assigned. Surprisingly, he was fairly good at it. 

"That's what I was planning on doing, bitch, before you called me." Tommy mumbled out, already moving to wrap up his headphones and stand up. It had not, in fact, been what he was planning on doing at all. "G'night."

"Night, Tom-" Wilbur was cut off as Tommy shut down his pc, his status finally flicking to offline. The glaring light finally relented, leaving the boy's eyes desperately trying to adjust to the absolute blackness of the room. By this point, the sheer exhilaration of the piano had all but fled from him, leaving him just an utterly drained 16 year old who hadn't slept for a good 24 hours. 

For a split second, he genuinely considered just straight up ignoring Wilbur's orders, finding his place back on the piano stool. Maybe he could start to compose the song he had dreamt up. That would probably stop the monsters of his sleep from dragging at his ankles. But no, he knew anything he made in this state would not be worth his while, and by the time he woke up again he would have forgotten whatever stunted melody he created at such appalling hours of the morning. 

In Tommy's not so humble opinion, forgetting something that you genuinely adored was one of the worst things to happen, especially if it was something you couldn't just search up on the internet. Forgetting an original song was awful, because it left him yearning for whatever effect he may have created during the composition, but no matter how hard he worked to recreate it, it would never be quite up to par. That forgotten melody would be held up to an insurmountable standard in his mind, and he had so, so many held there before. 

There was a song he had made, maybe a year ago, that he remembered none of, only the melancholy dreariness he had felt upon listening to the recording back. Maybe that wasn't something he should want to recreate, but for some irrational reason it was, and nothing he had created since had been close to good enough. It probably wasn't even that good of a song, honestly, because he could confidently say his piano playing in that period was less than perfect. He had been having an off month or two, he knew that. 

Christ, he was weird. A 16 year old, getting upset over a sad song he made a year back? He needed sleep, desperately. 

Throwing himself onto the grey duvet, his mind almost immediately fell away, leaving him to the blissful emptiness of sleep. 

***

Wilbur grinned at the screen, the last few strums of his opening song fading out as he flicked on his camera. 

"Chat! How're we doing today?" His eyes scanned the chat, not really reading the messages appearing. "This fine afternoon, we will be playing Rust with Tommyinnit! That is, if he ever bloody turns up." He adds, with a soft chuckle. In all honesty, he was sort of concerned. It was 3 in the afternoon, and the boy had yet to make an appearance. He was well aware of the shitty sleep schedule Tommy had developed, but 6am? That was dramatic, even for him. 

He was pulled back into reality by the sound of someone joining his voice channel. Looking at his monitor, he smiled when he saw Tommy's name. 

"Speak of the devil! How are you doing, Tommy? You ready for the stream?" Tommy took a second to reply, in which Wilbur furrowed his brows and glanced up at his camera in concern, not wanting the younger to be caught unawares on live. 

"Yeah," Tommy started, his voice slightly croaky from sleep. He cleared it loudly, trying to make it seem deliberate, a funny bit for the stream. "Yeah, I'm ready." He said, much more clearly. "Ready to beat you up, shithead!"

Wilbur's mouth twisted up at the end at that, shaking his head in mock irritation, and he simply continued on to the game. 

***

"Will! We need rad suits, not a piano!" 

Tommy's face was beginning to hurt from laughing so much. 

"No! Look, I've got it now. You can't do anything about it!" Will yelled, in glee. Tommy let out an exaggerated groan, twisting his face up even though Wilbur's stream couldn't see him. He had loosened up over the course of the game, shaking off the dregs of sleep through dramatic laughs and too big movements that nobody could see anyway. He was just doing it for the fun of it. 

"Tommy, you have to give me something to play! Anything! The hardest song you can think of!" Wilbur was overexcited and getting cocky, his voice coming through cracked and distorted with the shitty connection. 

"Wilbur, you don't even play the piano." He said bluntly. He did not count the cat piano. 

Wilbur laughed, waving his hands around in challenge. "Try me."

Smiling, the boy pretended to consider it. 

"Hmm, well... what about Moonlight Sonata? You know that one?" Wilbur made a vague noise of approval. "Yeah, do that one, but the 3rd movement." 

Silence. Then, Wilbur shuffled around, and spoke again. 

"The fuck does that mean?"

Tommy giggled, launching into his explanation of the thing he found more compelling than anything. "It's the third part of the piece, Scherzo. Grade 7ish, I'd say. Really fast- took me hours to get it down, and I snapped a string in the process! Honestly, I don't know how the composer does it."

"...You play the piano?" Wilbur spoke quite quietly, curiosity clearly present in his voice, even through Tommy's busted speakers. The boy's smile faltered when he realised what he had said. He coughed into his elbow, stalling. 

"Uh... yeah? You know that, Big Man! What did you think I stayed up till 6am doing?"

***

Wilbur was dumbfounded. He didn't know how his little internet brothers obvious musical prowess had never come up in conversation during a discord call. Now he thought about it, perhaps it should have been obvious, the ceaseless finger tapping that he chalked down to anxiety so obviously being practised scales. And the fact he was good enough to play what he claimed was near Grade 7? Absolutely mental. 

"Will?" Tommy's voice through his headphones brought him back to the present, reminded him he was still on stream. He cleared his throat. 

"Uh." He said, eloquently. "No, I uh, I don't think that's ever come up." A small noise of surprise came through the call, but Tommy said nothing. The silence stretched out longer. 

"Do you want to hear a song I wrote?" Wilbur started, glancing at the camera again. 

"You've written a song?" 

"Oh yeah, loads. This one I wrote the other night, though." The elder almost choked on his spit, a strangled cry escaping his throat. How had he written songs? How had Tommyinnit, of all people, written songs and not told him about it?

"We are on stream, you know. I mean, I'd love to hear it, but we are on stream. If you'd rather show me later, I don't mind." Wilbur was rambling. 

"I don't care." Tommy was most certainly not. He spoke with a dramatic finality which made Wilbur think he had been wanting to do this for a while. 

"Then, uh, go ahead." The silence stretched out longer than it should, shuffling and movement picked up on Tommy's mic. Will closed the Rust tab, he doubted they would he going back to that this stream, things the way they were. Pulling up their discord call, he stared at the boy on video. The straight backed, perfectly composed boy who faced away from the camera and placed his hands on two different octaves of the piano Wilbur had never even seen in his room before. 

The piece started through his earphones, with a low A, climbing up with a A minor scale that surpassed two octaves, gaining speed and volume as it climbed. It quieted as it reached the top, ringing out into silence, before Tommy's hands lifed and slammed down on the keys, creating a quick, dramatic chord in each hand. He lifted them almost immediately, starting a staccato sequence as the chords jump around at ridiculous speeds, mixing sharps and flats and naturals in a way that Wilbur could never possibly hope to recreate. Slowly, it morphed into a melody, quick jumping notes in the treble with a repeating rhythm in the bass that varied only slighly. The rightmost pedal must have been used with the centre, because the bass notes began to bleed into one another, creating what sounded like a persistent yet ever changing chord. 

The song continued, climbing and sinking, dynamic in a way that couldn't quite be recreated by any other instrument. Wilbur hadn't made a single noise the whole time, blatantly ignoring the speeding chat and generous donations in favour of just staring at the back of his brother, his pale hands flying across the keys so fast the camera could barely pick it up. It was only once the piece had slowed to a stop, Tommy's hands finally stilling, that he noticed his mouth was hanging open. He clamped it shut and watched as the boy gingerly made his way back over to the camera, sliding into his seat and putting his headphones back on. 

"Wilbur?" The man in question actually choked this time, devolving into a coughing fit. "Will? Are you alright?" Wilbur looked back up at the camera, staring up at the lens with tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Fuck, Tommy, you've made me cry live on Twitch.TV"

**Author's Note:**

> yes this is overly dramatic stfu idc anyways kudos is great if you want :D


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